Your Apartment Is Just A Cab Ride Away
by magentacr
Summary: When Sherlock tells Kitty Riley that he has two types of fan, he sounds as though he has experience with both. But just what happened whan he encountered type B? Well it all starts when an Army Doctor, a Detective Inspector and Consulting Detective walk into a bar...


_AN: So much for just telling myself I would finish my current multichap and then take a break from writing to catch up reading stuff. This idea just popped into my head and I couldn't resist. Set somewhere towards the end of Season 1, but before the main action of SIB. Please let me know what you think in the reviews._

 _No copyright infringement intended, I write for fun not money. All characters belong to ACD and the BBC._

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 **Your Apartment is Just a Cab Ride Away**

"Wow. Here I've been thinking that man and woman over there were father and daughter all night, but I guess not by the way she just frenched him." John laughed, nodding to the couple in the corner. They were in The Red Lion, a pub just around the corner from New Scotland Yard, where he and Lestrade had started to make a tradition of coming for drinks after cases.

"Huh. Old codger must be rich to have a bird like that at his age."

"Nope." Sherlock announced, popping the 'p' obnoxiously and barely glancing up from his phone at the couple before running his commentary."That's he cheapest ale on the menu he's drinking. That and the low quality fabric of his suit suggest he's making no more than 20 Grand a year, hardly rich by anyone's standards. He met the girl on a dating site designed for women looking for older men." He held up his phone, displaying the woman's profile in the website as evidence. "Probably suggestive of father issues-"

"Yeah, alright, give it a rest." Lestrade cut him off exasperatedly, before turning to John. "I'm starting to remember why I never did this with him before you came along."

"I'm right here you know, it's rude to talk about me as if I wasn't." Sherlock pointed out, though he seemed to have no problem with tapping away on his phone again and ignoring them. It was true he never usually joined them in their post-case drinking, but with no other cases looming, or experiments in need of tending he had been hard pressed to come up with an excuse not to in this case. He would have to try harder in the future.

"Says you, I've seen you do it to clients plenty." John's scoffed.

"Well hello. Two lovely ladies at your 7, John." Lestrade smirked, nodding to the doorway where an attractive blonde and her brunette friend had just walked in, dressed to the nines. John glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder and then grinned back at his friend.

"Oh please." Sherlock tutted. "And I don't know why you're looking Lestrade, you have a wife. Well, when she's not off with the-"

"Oi, watch it. And there's no harm in looking if that's all I do, is there?" Lestrade defended bitterly.

"Yeah you might want to stop your bickering now guys, they're coming over." John pointed out.

"And why would I care?" Sherlock dismissed.

"Oh, my, Gosh! You're Sherlock Holmes, the private detective!" The blonde burst out upon reaching their table, all of her attention focussed on Sherlock - much to the shock and disappointment of John and Lestrade.

"Consulting Detective." Sherlock instinctively corrected.

"I am such a huge fan! Wow, I can't believe we ran into you here." The woman continued, undeterred.

"You're a fan of my work?" Sherlock asked, perking up and all but preening at the idea, "Do you follow my website? I just today posted an interesting paper I wrote about the tensile strengths of-"

"Oh, you have your own website? I thought it was just that John guy who did the blog for you."

"Yeah, that would be me. Hi." John tried to cut in, but she just ignored him, moving around past him in order to be even closer to her hero.

"I just love reading about how you track down all those criminals. Is it true you can tell someone's life story just by looking at them?"

"Well I wouldn't say their whole life story, but there is a lot to be told by someone's appearance. For instance you-" his words cut off abruptly as the woman's hand landed on his arm, and she leaned right over him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered to him.

"Hold that thought. My apartment is just a cab ride away."

John exchanged raised eyebrows with Lestrade behind the woman's back, too shocked to even try to hit on her friend. Sherlock's face went blank however, a cold mask revealing it's only emotion in the slight pursing of his lips as he put a hand on the woman's shoulder and pushed her away.

"No, this will only take a moment. I see by the very distinct tan line on your finger that you were engaged to be married until recently, very recently in fact, he left you for another, and this being your first night out since, you are determined not to go home alone to get back at him and prove you don't need him. One night stands aren't new to you though, you had them frequently before said engagement. Your high sex drive is probably a result of your low self-esteem, you were clearly overweight as a teenager, and after working so hard to lose all that weight you welcome sexual advances from just about anyone as recognition of your new and 'improved' body. Oh and you have lipstick on your teeth, your friend probably didn't tell you because she never wanted to come out tonight in the first place. I could go on, but I think you get my point."

The woman let out a strangled sound halfway between a screech and gasp and turned to storm away with her friend, but then remembered Sherlock's words and stormed away from her friend too, who dashed after her spewing excuses and apologies. Meanwhile John and Lestrade levelled disapproving looks at their friend, who was looking just a little too pleased with himself.

"What the hell was that?" John complained, "She was a sure thing!"

"And she was an eight at least." Lestrade added.

"No, no that means something entirely different to him."

"I know what he means, John." Sherlock corrected, with a condescending glare, "The infantile system men use to rate women's desirableness. But as I am sure I have already explained to both of you, I have no interest in such things. Romantic entanglements are diametrically opposed to the cold hard, and objective logic I hold dear. They are at best a distraction, and at worst a dangerous source of bias."

"A distraction from what? You have nothing on at the minute, that's why you're here." John pointed out. "And judging by how frequently you're checking your phone's inbox and scowling at it, you're dangerously close to throwing one of your hissy fits out of boredom. A good 45 minute distraction could be just what you need right now. I promise you she wasn't looking for much more of a 'romantic entanglement' than that."

"45 minutes? You think this guy has 45 minutes in him?" Lestrade smirked to John.

"I was accounting for traffic."

Sherlock's face was positively sour by this point, his hand twitching for his phone, but resisting giving John the satisfaction of being right by picking it up.

"How could she even call herself a fan when all she was interested in was my body and not my mind anyway?" He lamented.

"Well that answers that question down at the yard." Lestrade commented, explaining after a questioning look from both other men, "Which one of you is the woman."

John's glare was unimpressed, but he didn't bother with the usual protests.

"Come on, surely this is better than your current serial-killer-sponsering and bomb-strapping fan club." He reasoned

"No, I think I prefer Moriarty." Sherlock said with a serious expression.

"Please tell me he's joking?"

"I wish I could."


End file.
